


Two Lovers and a Stranger

by SanSanForever



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Love, Older Man/Younger Woman, Runaway, Westeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanForever/pseuds/SanSanForever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This work is not finished!<br/>AU where Sansa leaves with Sandor during the Blackwater Battle, containing acts of love and a race against the Lannister and Baratheon Monarchy. Sansa and Sandor plan to leave for Braavos and live a life of solitude and life-long passion, away from the problems of the world- meeting powerful people along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting the Stranger

**Chapter 1- Meeting the Stranger**

Sansa looked to see the green flames simmering through her window as she felt the knife point rest on her throat.

"Sing for your little life."  
 _Please don't kill me,_  she wanted to scream, _please don't._  She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost close her eyes again, but then she remembered, it was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

_Gentle Mother, font of mercy,_

_save our sons from war, we pray_

_stay the swords and stay the arrows,_

_let them know a better day._

_Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughter through this fray,_

_soothe the wrath and tame the fury,_

_teach us all a kinder way._

She had forgotten the other verses. When her voice trailed off, she feared he might kill her, but after a moment the Hound took the blade from her throat, never speaking.  
Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.  
 _He can feel. He has a heart unlike his rough, calloused voice._  "Wait," Sansa whispered loudly before Sandor could walk through the doorway. "Wait!" She cried louder. Sandor stopped, heaping his large, muscled arm on the door hinge.

"Little bird grew her feathers and has decided to fly?" He rasped.

"Y-yes, please," she whispered, her voice giving off the slightest hint of fear, "take me home." She reached down to grab his cloak and wrap it around her shoulders.

Sandor's eyes widened with a sly smile, and quickly masked his face again with his familiar drunken grimace. "We must be quick," he marched to Sansa and slung her over his shoulder like the day he saved her from the rapists of the riot. Despite the reek of strong wine, Sandor quickly walked down the stone hallways and staircases until Sansa could feel the air blow against her as the heavy door of the courtyard opened. All that Sansa could see was the Red Keep shrinking as Sandor ran across the yard to a magnificent stable which only held a sleek, heavy black destrier already suited in a saddle and reigns. She could feel Sandor's arms loosen as she slid down his front, her heart beating faster as she touched the stoned ground.

"Why are we stopping?" Sansa knew the answer, but her nervousness loosend the control on her words.  
A bomb of green flames lightened the sky, and Sandor perked his head up and narrowing his eyes.

"You don't expect me to fucking run all the way to Winterfell, do you? Why do you think Stranger is dressed for travel?" She heard him mutter stupid little bird after he lifted her on the mountainous horse that would take her home. Sansa lifted herself forward so Sandor had room to reach the stirrup, but he only used his trunk-like arms on the saddle to lift himself behind her, snuggling himself closer to her to balance himself on the horse. Sansa could see the black destrier's ears perk in excitement , and feel Sandor's hands tighten on his reigns. "Chase the Stranger," Sandor barked, and Stranger leaped forward into a gallop. Sandor's inner arms help keep her in the saddle as the speed of the smoothe sprint created a loud wind to which she couldn't even hear the battle cries. "Come on, boy!" Sandor kicked the horse into full gear as Sandor pushed Sansa's head down to increase their speed against the wind.

The wind started to die down, and Stranger's gait became more rough as he slowed down. They were at the top of the hill, overlooking the frightful sight behind them. The bursts of green against the red keep looked as the waves creep back and forth on top of the sand. The blackwater bay was on fire, hundreds of ships broken and defeated with men fighting hand-on-hand combat on the beach. The cries of men and the explosions of the leftover wildfire filled the air, and Sansa could feel Sandor's fear. That's why he escaped. _He is no craven of battle... it was the flames._  The battle cries of men urged her to hum the rhythm of Gentle Mother. Sandor and Stranger both flinched as she began to hum the song through her throat, until Sandor kicked Stranger forwards toward the forest. Sansa hung on the Stranger's mane as he cantered through the field and the first line of trees, and gaited to a walk as Sandor stopped him. He leaped off of the destrier and grabbed Sansa by her hips, dragging her from the saddle with sore legs.

"Will we be staying here tonight?" Sansa asked, hiding the fact that she was trying to stretch her legs from the soreness.

"Hell no girl, we're too close to battle," he started to unlace his breeches. "I need to take a piss." His drunken stupor was beginning to show after the adrenaline of escape.

Sansa's heart began to beat as he grumbled, trying to undo the laces.

"Good Gods, girl, you don't have to watch, go piss on a tree or something."

She blushed in embarrassment as she walked to a large tree that could hide her from him as she went along with her business. Her heart began to palpitate as she realized that her moonblood was still flowing. What am I going to do? I can't simply ride for the next few days with my moonblood without proper supplies! What will he think or say if he sees me with a stain of blood on my dress? She wiped away the blood with a nearby leaf, and buried it in a thin layer of dirt.

"Little bird, it's best we fly before your loving captors find you." Sandor barked.

"I'm coming," she replied nervously, smoothing her dress down before walking towards him and letting him sit her on the saddle once more.

"Little bird..."

"Yes?" She asked nervously, the thought of his stare frightened her.

"Perhaps you could give me room to get on my horse?"

"Oh- yes!" Sansa scooted forwards anxiously, "I just thought that you would jump on, like last time."

Sandor barked a laugh. "I'm not drunk enough to do it again, fetch me strong wine and I'll do it." He placed his foot in the stirrup and flung himself over, closing in the empty space between her arse and his body. Sandor kicked Stranger, and they were flying through the woods. Sansa was beginning to shiver in anxiety and coldness, and held on tighter to the bloody white cloak around her neck.

The night carried on as Sandor switched gaits to let Stranger rest, and carried on the gallop. "How far have we gone?" Sansa asked, thinking of her aching legs and arse.

"Almost to a town called Rosby." He halted Stranger to a stop, almost flinging Sansa over Stranger's head. "In fact, we'll be sleeping here tonight." Stranger let out a long sigh of relief as Sandor jumped off of his back, and reached for Sansa.

"Why won't we stay in Rosby?" Sansa muttered.

"Towns aren't safe. If the spider and Baelish have spies all the way up in White Harbor, there's bound to be one in a tavern twenty miles outside of King's landing." Sandor unlaced a saddlebag and released two sleeping bags. "If it gets too cold for you, wrap the cloak around your head. Heat escaped from there, not the bottom-" he barked a laugh. "Actually, they both let out heat. Get some rest girl, we'll sleep during the day and travel the night, safest that way." Sandor took off Stranger's saddle and bit, tying him around a tree. He started to release the chainmail and armor from his strong shoulders, and fumbled with the ties of his chest plate.

"Would you like some help?" Sansa reached for the ties.

"Bloody hells girl, I'm not that drunk!" Sandor snapped.

Sansa, for the first time since he forced her to, looked at Sandor in the eyes willingly. He looked back at her, the grimace slowly melting from his face. "Be quick about it. I'm a tired and drunk dog who just wants to sleep."

Sansa smiled, releasing the gaze she gave him to unlace the knots that held him together. She had to stand on her toes to loosen the shoulder pads, "How tall are you?" She asked, quickly wishing she hadn't in his drunken state, but he answered without anger.

"Six feet and six inches." Sandor replied.

She glanced at him from his left side, the unburnt side, and actually enjoyed the sight of him.  _He's so tall, with legs like tree trunks and arms like steep hills and a body built as a bull._

"It's rude to stare." He reached for the saddlebag and grabbed a hand-sized loaf of bread for Sansa to feed on, and one for himself.

She ignored his comment and grabbed the loaf before she unfastened the rest of his gear. "Done. You can rest now."

"Buggering Gods, it's about fucking time." He groaned as he lay down and crawled through the sleeping back, resting on his left side as he faced away from her.

Sansa knelt on the ground to enter her own sleeping bag, and shivered when she stopped moving, so she wrapped the bloody, reeking cloak around her head. She lay there for twenty minutes before she couldn't stand it any longer, her toes were ice-cold and her body shivered uncontrollably. Sansa Stark, the daughter of winter, unable to sleep outside during the last days of summer. She sighed, a surge of fear flowing through her before she exposed herself to the air and swept her bag next to Sandor. Be brave. _Don't blush, embarrassment won't help you get warmer._  Sansa slid into the sleeping bag and felt the warmth radiant from Sandor's back. The sweet satisfaction of warmth brought her closer to him, and soon enough there was no empty space between them.

* * *

_Buggering Gods,_  Sandor thought, _what in the fucking hell is she doing?_  Sandor rolled himself over to find Sansa resting against him, fast asleep surrounding herself in his cloak, his cloak. Seven hells, he could feel the heat from her, her body looking fucking perfect sleeping there, breathing. He could feel his manhood rise. _Fuck! Fuck you, Gods!_  The urging taunt of Sansa's innocent body next to his made him feel the rippling waves of lust. There was only one thing he could do- despite his body revolting in movement after hours of battle and riding, he exited his sleeping bag and walked behind a wall of bushes. He pleasured himself with his hand, stroking his large shaft with thick, rough fingers, thinking of the little bird's mouth and mound... "Fuck," he gasped, the waves of pleasure rolling over him until he released. He wiped his hand down his leg and pulled up his breeches, tied them, and stiffly walked back over to Sansa.

"Where did you go?" She asked, surprising him with her voice.

"Took a piss, girl. Is it not obvious? We've been riding all night without a fucking break." He climbed back into the bag as she glanced at him in fear.  
She slowly started to speak, "I'm sorry... for sleeping next to you. I was freezing myself over there-"

"Don't be sorry, little bird. It's the dawn of a turning summer, it's bound to be buggering cold." He rasped under his cloak.

"Sandor..." Sansa muttered weakly, "Can I?"

Sandor knew exactly what she meant, and as he looked up from his covers, he took his arm out and reached over her, circling it around her.

"Thank you," she muttered.

Sandor didn't reply, but only tightened his paw around his little bird.


	2. An Unexpected Traveler

**Chapter 2- An Unexpected Traveler**

The dusk of another day was beginning as Sansa balled her hands into fists to rub her eyes. She repelled the idea of having to waken as she felt the radiance of warmth behind her was gone. Quickly she sat up, searching for him, until she looked ahead to see him strapping the cinch under Stranger, and placing his sleeping bag into the leather saddle case. "It's about time, little bird."

She stretched her wings and back, yawning as she cracked her wrists. Before she answered, she fiddled her tongue around her dry mouth. "Is there a stream nearby? I am a bit thirsty."

Sandor pointed to a flask, and she feared she would have to drink the strong wine instead, but as she bit off the plug, it was the taste of fresh water, not the well water from King's Landing. "Thank you," she sighed as she handed the flask to him, but he revolted against it.

"I have my own. It's not buggering water though, so I suggest you keep that one." He stuffed her sleeping bag into the carrier, and place his hands on her hips.

"Um, Sandor?" Sansa asked. He looked at her, standing there with his hands resting on her, his eyes open and soft. "May I go to the bathroom first?"  
He sighed, releasing her and watching her as she quickly walked behind a far tree.

 _Oh no,_  the blood covered the inside of her small clothes, her heart pounding against her chest. _What do I do? What will he think? Should I tell him? I should tell him._  She looked down in misery as she saw the blood on the cloak, and then got and idea. She tore off a string of cloth from the cloak and placed it between her smallclothes and her body. _That should hold for a while._

She bravely walked back, and Sandor once more grabbed her from her hips and placed her on the energetic Stranger. They avoided the Kingsroad to stay distant from possible, galloping the black destrier throughout the dark night. After an hour of jumping, galloping, and keeping balance, the lights of a brothel and town were visible. "Sandor, is that-"

"Rosby? Yes. We're going to have to avoid it, the Lannisters are fond of this town." He barked a laugh. "I don't fucking know why, it's just a town of huts surrounding the castle of the Rosby's. Of course, the Lannisters make no fucking sense to me."

Sansa laughed for the first time. "You were never  _fond_ of the Lannsters I take it?"

"Bloody hells, they make the Imp the Hand of the King, Tywin fights a fifteen year old boy, Joffrey is a sword up the arse, and Cersei and Jaime fuck eachother."

Sansa's eyed widened with complete surprise. "What? They... they have had... _intimate..._ relations? But they're  _brother and sister!"_

 _"_ Just say  _fuck_ Sansa, no one's here to listen. Pretty birds can't stay innocent forever once they're free."

"Okay... they've...  _fucked_ eachother?"

"Bloody hells, yes." Sandor slowed Stranger to a walk.

"Wait... is that why-"

"Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella all have blonde hair and green eyes despite the fact that their  _"_ father" had black hair and grey eyes?" Sandor interrupted.

"Then... Joffrey isn't the rightful king? That's why Stannis invaded, to take the crown because it was his actual  _right_!"

"That took you a while," his calloused voice spoke.

Sansa focused on Stranger's heavy breathing before she spoke. "I hope Stannis wins. I hope he kills him, and her, too. I hope no Lannister ever finds themselves playing in the game of thrones."

Sandor sighed. "You don't want Stannis as your king, Sansa. He's just as evil as Joffrey when it comes to power, especially with the red mistress puppeting him."

Sansa paused, staring up at the blank, black sky. "He wouldn't be my king. Winterfell is ruled by Robb and my little brothers," She turned her head to him. "They say he's the king in the North, Robb is. I belong in the North, which makes me under the rule of Robb. Stannis wouldn't be my king." She turned her face forwards to the path ahead.

Sandor's heart began to gallop.  _She looked at me. She looked at me in my grey-dog eyes and looked at me without fear._ He felt his blood rush to his manhood.  _Bugger me! "_ You know," he said to keep his mind off of the rhythm of the horse moving her against him, "Stannis could easily overtake the North." _  
_

Sansa stiffined. "I am a Stark of Winterfell. I _am_ the North."

"Easy to overtake?" Sandor said, seeing Sansa's confusion on her face.  _Mother of the fucking, buggering Gods!_ His manhood started to stiffen.  _Would I dare overtake the North? Seven hells-_ "We're taking a piss break." He halted Stranger, dismounted, and tied his reigns to a tree.

"Sandor, look!" Sansa cried out.

"Blasted buggering hells, Sansa! Be fucking  _quiet!"_ Sandor barked as he unlaced his breeches.

She ignored his fearful voice, "No- Stop! Sandor, don't piss on that tree. We're in a Godswood!"

Sandor gave a smirk and a sigh, "Sansa, Godswoods are  _inside_ the castle. Stop blubbering." He continued to unlace his breeches.

Sansa looked around the trees. "Sandor, there are ruins here. This place could have been a castle. Look around- there are stones stacked up behind the trees to the East." She looked around as she circled her body, spinning her dress.

 _Buggering Gods, she's right._ He looked around and could almost get the exact shape of the castle. "I... I see it. You need to know it's there to see it, but... Gods, little bird, you  _might_ be of use to me yet." He rasped. "Okay. Piss time."

Sansa knew that was her queu to leave, so she went farther down into the trees to not have to take a piss in a holy place. Her moonblood was still in flow, and using the cloak as a barrier between her and her smallclothes worked. She tore off another piece of the white cloak, easily spotted in the night, and placed it in her smallclothes. As she got up, her stomach growled and she held her stomach, not realizing she hadn't eaten at all throughout the night.

"Hungry, little bird?" Sandor called from yards away.

"You heard that?" Sansa's eyebrows went up in astonishment.

"How do you think I survived as a boy? Think I just stayed inside my castle with my brother and father?"

Sansa walked toward him, wanting to cup his cheek like she did in her chambers in Kings Landing. "Do you mind if I have another piece of bread?"

"Bread?" he barked a laugh. "If you want to survive in these woods, Gods or no Gods, we're eating meat. I'll show you how to gut a kill."

Sansa's throat tightened at the thought of dripping blood, and deer entrails dangling from a corpse. "Can't I just tend to Stranger? I can set up camp?"

"So close to Rosby, all alone with my man-eating destrier? I doubt that. Come on, little bird."

They walked over two-hundred yards before they saw a doe eating grass, completely unaware of the hunters behind her.

"Don't make a fucking sound," Sandor whispered in her ear, his breath on her throat sending chills down her spine. He slowly reached for a dagger placed next to his thigh and aimed it at the doe. Sansa watched with one eyed closed, not wanting to see her suffer. Sandor threw the dagger so fast and quick, the deer jumped and landed on her side. He rain up before she could return to her feet, and he sliced her throat with his sword. "Seven hells," he wiped his forehead with his glove.

Sansa stared in astonishment as he started to trace the tip of the dagger under her belly and rip open the skin.

"Come here, little bird."

Her heart started to race, and she tried to change the subject. "How did you kill her with a  _dagger?_ "

"Beats me, I loaded my fucking cheap one because I thought she'd run away with it. Well, Gods be damned, we have dinner." He looked up at her, "Come on, now."

She slowly stepped over the fallen tree she was hidden behind, and walked over to the carcass. He began to show her how to cut through the skin and save the meat, but his voiced traced off as she began to sweat, the blood looking like her father's. She imagined a pile of bodies covered in blood; the faces of her family. Her father. Her mother. Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Lady, and even the bastard, Jon.

"... and that's how you gut a deer."

Sansa looked up and nodded, "Good to know," she muttered, her voice tightened with an uneasy feeling of sickness.

"We won't be able to start an actual fire, we can only slowly burn leaves under it. It will take a little more than an hour to cook."

Sansa's stomach growled. "That's fine, I just need to lay down."

Halfway through the walk back, Sansa turned around and ran behind a tree to vomit.  _Oh, Gods! This is terrible. He thinks I'm weak!_

"Little bird," Sandor rasped.

She could feel him behind her, thinking that he would hold her, he only wrapped his arm around her to give her the waterskin.

"Drink. You retched up your energy, just sit down and I will cook the meat."

Sansa looked up at him, took the waterskin, and guzzled down the water. "Thank you, Sandor."

Sandor showed his heavy grimace, and lightened it with a smirk. "By the way, little bird," he paused.

"What, Sandor?" she turned to see him give a quiet bark of laughter. "What? Tell me!"

"You have a little blood on your arse." He smirked and turned away, walking to the camp they made in the Godswood.

Sansa felt her eyes wallow with tears.  _Oh... "Gods!"_ Sansa screamed angrily at herself, Sandor unable to hear.  _I should have kept track of it..._ she ran behind a further tree and tore the third piece of cloth from the cloak and placed it in her smallclothes that were soaked in red.  _I'm so_ fucking  _embarrassed!_ All of the rage and embarrassment inside Sansa forced out her anger through her tongue. "Fuck!" Her curse echoed throughout the Godswood, even a squirrel ran out of the grass under her feet in fear.

She heard clashing metal drop to the ground. "Little bird? What is it? Tell me!" She heard his pace running towards her.

"Nothing... Nothing! It's just-" She saw Sandor coming closer, and she had no time to pull up her smallclothes. "Sandor, stop! Just stay the  _fuck over there!"_

The sound of his steps stopped. She heard a bark of laughter. "The little bird has learned to chirp... and caw!" he barked again. "What are you doing around that corner, girl?"

"None of a man's business," as she cleaned up her mess before pulling up her smallclothes.

"I'm no man, I'm a dog. Let us see-"

"No!" Sansa held her tongue, frightened at the response he might give her for her blasting remarks. "I mean... Sandor, just please. I don't need this right now. How is the meat coming along?"

"Pshh, bugger the meat. Tell me,  _now._ "

Sansa released her breath. "The blood... is my moonblood. It won't stop, it's my first one, and I... don't know about  _this-_ " She walked around the tree so he could see her. "So... since your cloak was already bloody, I've had to use strips," Sansa held up a corner of the cloak that was torn.

Sandor stared at her, a blank face, Sansa not able to detect his thoughts.

* * *

She showed him her  _blood_ , her  _woman's_ blood. She stood there, covered in her own blood.  _And she said that she used_ his  _cloak to put between her legs..._ "Buggering Gods," he answered both his and her thoughts. The thought of what was once his was against her warmth made his manhood harden. "Fuck..."

"Please, Sandor, I can't help it," Sansa looked down, ashamed.

"I didn't say that to you, girl. Just..." he sighed. He looked toward the faint lights coming from Rosby, "I can't have you seen in town covered in blood with a dog like me...  _Fucking hells..._  I need you to stay in a safe spot. Keep cooking the meat, don't let the flames get heavy. If they do, stomp it out with your cloak, or  _my_ cloak, whatever. Just keep control, stay quiet, and don't get into anything. If you hear people-" He grabbed into his saddlebag, "Whistle this." It was a wooden carved whistle the size of her pinky. "They have to be far enough away, if you are too close and they hear where the whistle came from... little bird is back in her cage."

"How long will you be gone?"

Sandor climbed on Stranger. "No longer than a half of an hour, keep yourself hidden, girl." He looked at her, resisting Stranger's urge to run, and they locked eyes. A glimmer of fear echoed through Sandor's grey eyes before he looked away and galloped to Rosby.

* * *

 _I'm alone._ Sansa looked around, sitting on a falling tree. She stared into the night sky, hoping and praying she would make it to Winterfell. She imagined the stone walls, the muddy ground in spring, the Godswood.  _I'm in a Godswood._ "They can hear me here," she jogged to the white tree with red and pink leaves. "Gods of Old, if you can hear me, spare the life of Sandor Clegane and I - help us return to Winterfell. I pray that you protect my brother in battle, my mother heal her grievances, and keep my sister safe wherever she may be. Keep my brother's safe in Winterfell, and keep them there until I reach my home." She held her thoughts for a moment, "And... give a shield to Jon on the Wall." She placed one foot on the ground to stand and stared at the bark of the tree. She touched it,  _felt it,_ felt the power of the old radiating through it.

Sansa sighed, "The Game of Thrones will never end, will it?" she walked around the pile of red leaves that had fallen for the coming of winter and sat among the circle of tall trees. She heard a crack of a branch and flinched,  _it's probably just a rodent or a deer._ She stared into the blackness that forged itself between two close trees, her eyes beginning to hurt staring in blackness.  _It's nothing._ Sansa stood up from her seat and walked over to the cinders of leaves that slowly cooked a slab of meat.  _This would cook faster if this was cut in pieces,_ she reached for the dagger behind her, but instead a foot kicked it away along with the dirt. Sansa screamed and backed away, unable to make out the face in the darkness.

"No, I'm afraid not." Instead of the familiar raspy bark, this voice was smooth and cunning.

"W-who are you? Please, don't hurt me, Ser," Sansa stopped backing away as she was stopped by a tree, leaning against it as if it would protect her.

The voice laughed. "You look pathetic, girl. Here-" in the darkness she could see an arm reaching out to her.

She reached for the hand, but nothing was there, only air. She moved her hand to find it, until she felt a stump, and felt the strange scars on it.

"Are you going to grab my arm, child, or do you just want to sit there?"

Sansa reached in her pocket for the whistle as she slowly grabbed the arm.

"That's it, girl."

Before he could react, Sansa stuck the whistle in her mouth and blew as loud as she could, jumping upward and started to run, the branches of the trees whipping her as she ran. She could hear the crunching of leaves behind her, a different pace than her own. She kept blowing the whistle, out of breath, but the perseverance of the Lannister's capture made her-  _forced her-_ to run until she reached Sandor. Tears began to well in her eyes as she kept blowing the whistle, absolute fear rippling through her. She blew the whistle again, until she hit a large figure, doubling back and falling on her arse.

"What is Seven buggering fucks is going on? Where are they?" Sandor Clegane stood with his sword out, Stranger standing idly behind him.

Sansa was weeping, her voice trembling as she spoke, "T-there was a man... he didn't have a hand, he reached for me..." Sansa coughed, her lungs tired from the sprint. "I could hear him chasing me," she looked down at Sandor's feet.

He lifted her chin to him before the man ran through the bushes and stopped in his tracks at the sight of a massive man holding a valyrian steel sword. "Who the blasted fuck are you? Did you try to hurt her?"

Sansa's memories ran through her head.  _No one would ever hurt you again, or I'd kill them._

 _"Who the FUCK are you?"_ Sandor heaped his blade to the neck of the shadow.

"Easy,  _dog_ _,_ dare you tempt the hand that feeds?" The shadow stepped into the ring of moonlight that lit through the leaves of the oak trees.

"Buggering hells... Kingslayer," Sandor did not remove his sword from Jaime's exposed throat. "What the blasted seven devils are you doing  _here_? Don't you have kings to slay? Perhaps the runt that sits on that blasted fuck of a throne now!"

Jaime sneered, "Easy, dog. I have men at my side- besides, you need me." he slowly raised his hands and winked at Sansa.

"Why do I bloody need you? I don't see any potential with a missing sword-hand and a lust for scaring women in the night!" The cold blade pressuring harder on the surface of Jaime's neck.

"I am the only power that could possibly keep my sister away from your  _little bird_. I know the Lannisters, hell, I  _am_ one. I know the routes, I know the traps, I know the plans. It's all  _me_ , and I'm offering my services to you." Jaime grinned as a lion would after a taste of flesh.

"And what would you expect in return?" Sandor still keeping the blade in position.

"Ahh, smart dog. One wouldn't simply throw out an offer like that without a certain price... yes. You see, it started in the hands of your brother," Jaime glanced at Sansa, "Smart fellow, good at battle but yet unknowingly weak in war. I was taken aback to the Stark camp where I was chained in a cage the size of a chicken coop, where your mother used me as a bait to get you back home. Once I was gone, your brother did not take kindly to it, seeming I was the only piece in the game that could actually help them win..." Jaime soaked in pride at the thought of him being needed in order for a war to take place. "Anyways, I had been escorted by a... unique... woman of a sort named Brienne who would trade me for you. Yet, we were ambushed by Riverland sellswords who seperated us and took Brienne- which did take quite an effort- to their camp. In full order, I need her to escort me back to Kings Landing. And with your help, I will help you return to your sweet mother, Lady Catelyn, and take the dog with me to save Brienne."

Sansa's eyes welled with tears as the fright of the run slowly left, her throat burning with intensity as she tried to control the want of bursting in tears. "You... Sandor... would have to leave?"

The apparent look on Sansa's face made Sandor's sword arm ease, and drop the blade that rested on Jaime's throat. "Little bird," he sighed, "It's the best way to get you home."

"Can I not join you? I can help feed and tack the horses, and I am small so I won't be in the way-"

"Little bird, enough. I already don't have enough buggering willpower to save one wench, let alone  _two._ "

Jaime stepped sideways, his face still towards them. "Sandor, I do think you do not see the opportunity that this girl gives you."

"What, then?" Sandor's eyebrows raised.

"It's simple. Instead of heading to Winterfell, which is the obvious place for a missing princess of winter to flee, help me save Brienne in the Riverlands and we will both escourt you to the port near Seagard."

"Seagard!" Sansa exclaimed, "My lady mother and dear brother reside not too far from there, near the twins! Oh- Sandor, could we see them?"

Sandor looked up at Jaime and grimaced, then looked down at Sansa with feeling in his eyes. "It'd be a hard journey, girl, and the likes of your family leaving you with a brute like me is unthinkable. I know you need to see them, little bird, but the risk of having all three surviving Starks in one area is too bloody risky. All Lannisters, Baratheons, and Martells will march to you, and there will be no safe place, not even behind the famined soldiers that stand behind your brother."

Sansa windowed a sad look in her eyes. "So... it's for the best? That I not disturb them and the war?" she looked up to Sandor's grey souls.

"Only for the best, little bird." And it was the truth.

Sansa began to shed soundless tears as she looked to the leaves that ruffled below her. Jaime turned, "I'll head back to your camp. I think my spontanious enterance didn't help the steady cooking of the meat," he looked up to Sandor and gave him a look that read _take your time_.

"Sansa..."

"I know what you are going to say. You will give me a speech on how I will eventually see my mother and brother again, and that everything takes time." She looked up at him with fierce eyes, " _Time_ is what took _everything_ from me. I will not let time be the sword that beheads me... or you, Sandor."

The sheer woman that Sansa had become not only let him feel proud of her, but sent a shiver of lust through his body. "Little bird," he stroked her cheek. "I am a loyal dog to you. A dog will die for you, but never lie to you." _Blasted fuck... I need those lips._ He stroked her lower lip with his thumb, and gently arched his back to breathe in the scent of her neck. Sansa shivered and blew a breath of her scent into Sandor's mouth. "Little bird..."

"Sandor," Sansa whispered in excitement. She raised both of her hands to each cheek, and felt the scars under her left hand, twisted and turned.

Sandor breathed heavily, the agony of his manhood forcing against his breeches. He touched his lips to hers, and pulled her in to him by her matured hips. She began to massage his hair as he moaned in delight, and the kiss continued into a raging, passionate affair. He pulled her down to the leaves below, and with his muscled arms he lifted himself over her. His body pulsed against her bloody dress- and the thought of her moonblood on his cloak raged him into a state of animalistic need. His breath quickened as he rubbed his covered manhood against her thigh, and she held her arms around the nape of his neck.

"Sandor..." she whispered once more.

"Yes, little bird?" He whispered passionately into her ear.

"I... as much as I am enjoying this, I don't think I'm ready, you know..." She slowly kissed him on his neck.

 _Fucking hells. Her body is too much..._ "I'm sorry, Sansa," despite the revolt of his needs, he lifted himself away from her and helped her from the ground, giving her a kiss before they walked back to the camp, shivering with lust.


	3. A Song for Lust, Battle, and Boredom.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for sticking with me!

Sandor followed Sansa through the bushes that lead towards the opening of the ancient Godswood. Jaime was slouching against a fallen log, poking at the raw doe meat with a stick. "I never knew how loud leaves could rustle," he said with a smug smile on his face while still poking the meat. Sandor didn't answer, but only mimicked the same smugged face as Jaime. "Seven hells, Lannister, stop poking the meat- the damn thing's already dead."

"What's a rich Lannister to do in a forest, hmm? Pay the flies to stop biting? Promise the leaves riches and land so they would be as comfortable as silken sheets on a goose-feathered mattress? Fuck the air to make it warmer? Honestly, Clegane, I thought you knew me."

"I know you're a cunt, and you're ruining the meat. Let it cook for God's sake!" Jaime gave Sandor a look that suggested the same face that a little boy would give if he couldn't get his way. He stopped touching the meat and sat back, whistling _The Rains of Castemere_.

Sansa listened earnestly, and sang along in her head with the tune of his whistle.

_'And who are you,'_

_The proud lord said_

_'That I must bow so low?'_

Sandor watched the embers under the shriveling leaves, focusing his grey irises to the flame-enveloped leaf.

_'Only a cat of a different coat_

_That's all the truth I know._

Jaime played with the handle of his arched dagger, tracing the print of his thumb over the detail as he whistled.

_'In a coat of gold_

_Or a coat of red_

_A lion still has claws,_

_And mine are long_

_And sharp my lord,_

_As long and sharp as yours.'_

Sandor looked up at Sansa, the blue in her eyes replaced by the orange of the embers, turning black as they faded below the meat. Her hair sweeped down passed her shoulders and to her waist, the waves of firey red hair framing her pale face whose cheeks reddened with cold. His remaining lust from their first encounter drove his mind into a passionate state, thinking of what could have happened if Sansa was willing enough.

_And so he spoke_

_And so he spoke_

_That lord of Castamere_

_And now the rains_

_Weep o'er his hall_

_With no one left to hear_

Sansa thought of Tywin Lannister, the golden lion, defeating the red lion of House Reyne in Castamere. The golden lion winning the battle with fierce claws and teeth; _the worst ones always live._

_Yes, now the rains_

_Weep o'er his hall_

_And not a soul to hear._

The air was quiet, and Jaime began to sharpen his dagger with a stone near his hip, holding the handle between his knees to stabilize the dagger with the lack of a hand. Sandor was filled with ecstasy for his little bird, Sansa thought eerily of Joffrey being a merciless golden lion, and Jaime spoke, "Well, that took up a minute out of four weeks of boredom. What to do..." He looked up at Sandor. "You don't suppose there are any burglars, rapists, or pilagers we could fight? I am dreadfully bored."

Sandor's rough voice broke the silence, which the raspy words surprisingly calmed Sansa. "You'll be seeing combat soon, no doubt. You are a ruthless killer, I am a ruthless killer, and Sansa is a trophy for all houses. You, the Kingslayer, and I, the betrayer of Kings will certainly pay for our crimes."

"It wasn't a crime," Sansa spoke. Jaime and Sandor looked up at her through the sky that lightened with dawn. "Joffrey... he deserved it." Jaime could tell she knew about his true relation to Joffrey, and knew that she was brave enough to say it.

Jaime sighed, "He was a little shit, but he _was_ my son. I suppose lessons have to be learned the hard way, during battle or not. Perhaps your little stunt will help him, Clegane."

Sandor guffawed. "Nothing is going to change that little brat, not even Robb Stark's head or me telling him and his kingsguard to fuck off. He's doomed from seven hells and back, and _that_ is learning the hard way."


	4. The Comfort of a Thousand Trees

The light of dawn creeped over the lands with a lavender blanket of cool breezes. Sandor sat next to Sansa, peering over the small cinders to the one-handed knight with locks of golden hair, representing the lion that figured his sigil. They finished the rough doe's meat in silence, listening to the bird's morning songs and leaves rustling in the trees above. Sandor looked over to see Sansa's strange attire, her white cloak and blue smallclothes covered in stains of red and dried blood. "Sansa, you are looking quite the wild thing," Jaime spoke aloud. 

Sansa blushed, looking down at her moonblood-covered dress that was much more visible in the light. "I do look quite scary."

Sandor's breeches twitched at the thought of being so close to her just hours before, the smell of her scent that covered her clothes,  _his_ cloak drenched in her beautiful mark of woman-ess. _Buggering Gods, not now._ He tried to distract the thought, leading to the night before. "Little bird, before our little meeting last night, I picked these up for you," He reached back and pulled out a plain, brown tunich and a cloak of wolverine fur. 

"Oh, thank the heavens!" She grabbed the clothing after he handed it to her, "Excuse me, I am going to go change." She said blushing again, thinking of them peering at her bloody clothes of her moonblood. Sansa walked through the thick forest that held bare ruins of an ancient castle, and stripped herself behind a thick oak tree. She unlaced her cloak and let it fall the the ground, pulled her smallclothes over her head, and for the first time in four days she was purely naked. Her body shivered at the gentle breeze while she stood there, closing her eyes and feeling every single hair on her body rise. The black birds were singing, along with the cawing of ravens. The claws of a scampering squirrel tapped against the tree closest to her, and she opened her eyes to look to the purple sky with pink puffs of clouds. She looked down to her body, her back side and legs spotted with dried blood.  _I need to find water to clean myself._ Sansa place the tunic over her head, and gently tied the cloak around her neck. While grabbing the smallclothes, she heard a slight sound of a stream. Her feet moved to the sound, and her arms moved the branches from her face. In an opening a trees not twenty feet from her, a creek in a width of a foot eased by, the sound of the running water bringing a sense of comfort to her. Sansa tore a piece of her smallclothes, not wanting to rip any more from Sandor's cloak that would forever be in her memory, and dipped it in the cool water. The feeling of cleaning herself brought her back to the ponds in Winterfell that she would go to for serenity. The blood washed away to show her pearl-white skin, smooth to the touch.  _While I'm here, I might aswell wash my hair._ She laid down and leaned back, letting her hair stream sideways into the creek, scrubbing it with her nails. The grease was out and her hair was back to it's healthy, red shine. 

She wiped down the rest of herself, including under her arms and in between her legs, humming the verses of  _The Dornishman's Wife;_

_The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun,_

     _and her kisses were warmer than spring._

_But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,_

     _and its kiss was a terrible thing._

_The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed,_

     _in a voice that was sweet as a peach,_

_But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,_

    _and a bite sharp and cold as a leech._

She rolled the wet cloth down her legs and back up to her bare, develeped chest. 

_As he lay on the ground with the darkness around,_

     _and the taste of his blood on his tongue,_

_His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer,_

    _and he smiled and he laughed and he sung,_
    

Her mind brought her to Sandor, his warm breath blowing on her neck. She imagined his manhood slowly entering her, bringing the cloth between her legs, and saw his starkly practiced muscles flexing while he held himself over her.

_"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,_

     _the Dornishman's taken my life,_

_But what does it matter, for all men must die,_

     _and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!"_

"Oh,  _Gods..._ " the feeling of the cloth brought her to a height in pleasure to wear she leant back against a nearby tree, looking up to the sky as she rubbed harder. She moaned as she finished, being the first time any such feeling was known to her. Her breath sped, seeing Sandor in her mind staring her in the eyes, her nails clawing at his toned backside. Sansa set down the cloth, her stomach burning from the clenching and twisting in pleasure. She eased herself up, feeling the leftover moisture run down her leg. Her body trembled as she lowered the tunic over her body and tied her cloak around her. Sansa began to walk back to the camp while following a natural trail, until she realized that she had forgotten the blood-stained clothing and Sandor's cloak. Turning around, she lightly ran to in the direction of the creek, seeing the bundle of white a hundred feet away. Slowing down, she walked to the clothing that was half-hidden by the tree that she felt her first pleasure. She was close now, and as she swerved around a tree, she saw a man. Not even a man, a dirty wildling hunched over smelling her dress. In the surprise, she took a quick intake of breath- and the wildling turned around and stood up.

"'Oy girl. This yours?" He laughed as he took the tresses of cloth into his face and dramatically smelled it again. 

"... I... I'm sorry. You can have them... I... I have to go," her feet pivoted and started to frantically walk in order not to seem frightened, but he ran up to her and caught her by the wolverine cloak. 

"Did I say you could leave? Ahh, no, I'll need me some woman to go with this dress." he laughed again, showing rotted teeth as he smiled.

"Please, Ser, don't..." she started to scramble as she tried breaking away from his grip.

"I'mma do what I want, so I think I'll just do you instead." the man forcefully pushed her down into the leaves, her loose hair fumbling around her. She screamed, but his hand muffled her cries as she tried to break away. Sansa gained the courage to bite his dirty finger and used her freedom to scream, "Sandor!" The sound echoed through the forest, leading to the flight of birds from the trees. 

"Fucking  _bitch!"_ He slapped her on the side of her face and pulled up her tunich, and started to unlace his breeches as he sat on her so she would be unable to escape. He ripped a piece of Sansa's old smallclothes to stick in her mouth, unable to speak. "You're mine now, cunt!"

A final muffled scream left Sansa as her tears flooded down her face. _Oh, gods! Please, Sandor! Come to me,_ help me! Before the man could enter her, she forcefully rolled over, leant upwards, and hit the man with the middle of her head. _Fuck, that hurt!_ The pain slowly went away as the adrenaline began to rush, she ran through the forest as fast as she could towards the camp. "Sandor! Sandor!" No respond. "Sandor! FUCK!" She was getting tired, even calling for the other. "Jaime! Help me!" She turned around and saw the man chasing her, holding his hand against his bleeding forehead. "Sandor! Jaime! HELP!"  _  
_

She was screaming as tears streamed down her face, happy that she wasn't wearing a dress that would get caught in the branches. She heard him say, "Come here you _fucking cunt!_ " She didn't dare stop, the thoughts of the worse things he would do to her now that she escaped. Sansa jumped over a deep ditch, falling to her knees and scrambling up again. Then, she felt a painful grip on her hair, stopping her in her tracks by the strands of her long, red locks. "I got you now!" He slapped her in the face, now sitting on her like he was before, but holding her so she faced the sky with a heavy hand on her neck. "I want you to see me fuck you as punishment! You shouldn' have ran!"

She closed her eyes as he let her scream. She could feel the tip of him at her enterance, and bit her lip in fright and shame. Before she could open her eyes, the weight of him laying on her was gone. His screams echoed as a deep voice growled, making her look up from the leaves. Her savior was finally here, but it was Sandor. It wasn't Jaime.

Her eyes fluttered in surprise, freeing extra tears down her cheecks. "Nymeria?"

The grey wolf looked up at her with a red smile from the injured wilding, who was unable to get up from the massive wound on his left leg. Sansa knew this wolf strait away, it was too massive to be a common forest wolf, and the markings of her fur were just as she remembered them back in Winterfell. Sansa walked over to the wolf and the man, Nymeria standing over it while huffing with exitement. "Good girl," she scratched the wolf on both sides of her neck. "You," she looked down at the pained wildling. "Do you think you can live off of the land, stealing away girls and raping them without a consequence?"

"No mad'm, I swear I'm livin' in poverty. I was just hungry, I couldn't control it! I promise mad'm, I'll never do it agai-" 

"SANSA!" A deep, very loud voice echoed through the trees, making both Sansa and the wildling man jump in fear. "Sansa, where the  _fuck are you?!_ "

"Sandor! I'm over here!"

Sansa saw the massive Sandor bursting through the thick branches, covered in blood. "Sansa! What the blasted fuck is going on?" He yelled.

She ran up to him, and he openly embraced her. Jaime had just made it through the branches at the sight of them holding eachother. "Hound? What is going on?" Jaime, too, was splattered with blood.

Sansa was crying into Sandor's stained chest. "I was changing into the tunic, and was sidetracked by a stream. I washed myself and forgot my smallclothes... I went back and  _he_ _,"_ She pointed to the wildling, suffering on the ground with wide eyes as the direwolf stood over him, "Tried to..." she sobbed. 

"Out with it, girl!" She felt his chest rumble as her ear was against it.

"Rape me! I escaped, but he caught up with me again, and as I closed my eyes he was gone, and... well, look!"

Sandor and Jaime looked at the direwolf whose muzzle was stained red. "Buggering..."

"It's not any random wolf, Sandor. It's Nymeria, Arya's wolf. She took him off of me and just about killed him, but I think she's saving that for you."

Sandor looked at the man who's eyes were blanked with fear. "Jaime, take her back to the camp."

"Wait, why are you two covered in blood, and why didn't you hear my calls?"

Sandor wiped away a tear that passed her cheek. "We were raided by a group of nine wildlings like the one who tried to get you." She felt the anger revolve around him, his brows and smile hardened while his hands were in fists. "They're bloody dead now. Jaime, take her now."

Sansa easily went with Jaime as his arm with a hand was wrapped around her shoulders, easing her through the trees. She heard the sound of Sandor's sword race from it's sheath, and a guttering cry with the sound of gurgling blood. A wolf's growl was added, along with the sound of heavy teeth ripping flesh. 

Then there was silence, and the sound of Nymeria's footsteps trotting on the leaves came closer. "That's a heck of a loyal sigil you have there, wolf-girl."

She uneasily laughed at Jaime's remark. "I'm just happy it wasn't a lion that showed up, there would be no mercy for either of us."

He snorted, "My family is known for paying debts, but not for mercy. How ironic," he looked down, "I guess our sigil's aren't worthless after all."

"I think they've always had meaning, never worthless."

"Smart girl." He tightined his grip around her shoulders in a strangely comforting way.

Nymeria and Sandor caught up with them just as they reached the sight of the camp. Sandor was still furious, but slightly happy that he was able to kill the savage beast who tried to take his little bird.

 


	5. Sweaty Dogs and Fluttering Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my first 'action' scene, I will probably change it a bit after I post it to make it better! Thanks for reading!

It was day now, and Sansa was fatigued with sleepiness and fright from the morning encounter. She yawned constantly, and Sandor and Jaime yawned with her. "It's been twelve hours little bird, it's about time you got some sleep. We have a long night ahead of us tonight, we are going to begin our journey to Maidenpool." Sansa stretched her arms, exposing her pearl white collar-bone. Sandor stared a minute too long, because Sansa stood up to grab her sleeping bag from the saddle bag and went behind a close set of bushes that acted as a wall.  
She peered over, "Goodnight, wake me a bit earlier before we must leave." She glanced at both Sandor and Jaime and said, "Thank you, thank you both." There were no other words needed, she just wrapped herself in the furs and slip into the blankets, closing her eyes while trying to fall asleep.  
"I'll take the first watch." Jaime could see the fatigue in Sandor's eyes, and he only nodded a slight thank you to Jaime as he too grabbed his sleeping bag and went behind the row of thick bushes. "And Hound," Jaime raised his voice. Sandor raised an eyebrow to him. "Don't wear yourself out too much. A lion needs sleep, too." He winked, and finished picking at the piece of meat.  
"Fuck off..." Sandor turned behind the bushes to where the lion could not see him. He saw the little bird shake from the cold, and despite his doubts, he nestled up to Sansa like a pup to it's siblings. Sansa took in a deep breath to his touch, her body sleepily molding itself to his. Her shivering went down as she flipped over and faced towards him, her head nuzzled under his chin. Sandor could feel his manhood stirring within him as he kept track of her warm breaths against his neck, and the hair on his arms stood when she said his name.  
"Sandor,"  
He took a deep breath to calm down his lust, his voice shaking, "Yes, little bird?"  
She spoke to him, her eyes still closed as she talked with a sleep-deprived voice, "You called me Sansa today. You never call me Sansa." The thoughts ran through his mind of hearing her voice, calling for him. He called for her, Little Bird! through the ruckus of slashing down wildlings. But she didn't reply, only long bursts of his name in a fearing voice of terror, and as he slayed the last of the wildlings, he followed her voice as her screams bounced off of the trees. He saw it- the sight of a wildling covered in blood with a massive direwolf huffing over it. Sansa still layed there, her tunic forced up and her creamy, soft legs were in view. Sandor! she cried to him. All of his feelings; love, lust, sadness, fear drove him to say her name for the first time. Sansa.  
"Sandor?"  
"It's your name girl. If you want a dog to come you call it by it's name." She opened her eyes, and to Sandor's disappointment, removed her head from underneath his bristling chin. "You always call me little bird. Or stupid girl. Where's the explanation for Sansa?"  
He looked down at her. "Little bird-"  
"Sansa. Call me Sansa."   
"Sansa... I..." he sighed. "Fuck, girl. All of the questions, just leave me bloody be!" He turned around, his back turning towards her. "Just get some sleep, girl. We have a journey ahead of us."  
"Sandor, you can't keep running away from your feelings forever."  
He nestled farther away from her. "Watch me."   
Sansa's rage was building, and she didn't care if the lion was only twenty feet away. She got up to her knees and leaned over him. "Why are you so fucking afraid of emotions? What is so horrible about telling me how you fucking feel about me?"   
"I don't!" his voice was strong and deep, not looking at her with his eyes still closed. "I don't fucking care, Sansa!" he lied. Sansa could see it by the way he didn't look at her in the face.  
"If you didn't care, then why did you save me? Huh? From Joffrey, from Kings Landing, from the Wildling just in this very morning? Explain, please."   
There was no answer.  
"Fine. If you don't care-" She stood up, picking up her blankets with her, "- I might as well just keep walking."   
Sandor opened his eyes and saw the sight of her arse walking away from him into the forest. He sighed in annoyance. "Sansa," he spoke quietly to where she could still hear. "Sansa, I'm sorry, just come back to bed."  
She didn't pause, only kept walking until she turned around a thick shelter of trees.   
As he stood up, he turned around to see Jaime with a smirk on his face. "What the fuck are you smiling at?"  
"Oh, nothing. Just knowing the fact that you know you need her just as much as she needs you."  
Sandor did not reply, he only dragged his bedding to where she hid behind the trees. She was laying down in a generous pile of leaves, stiffly staring into the sky.   
"Sansa, you can't just throw me into the pit like that."  
"Why not? Are we not familiar with each other? I would have thought a passionate kiss would have sealed that."  
He was stunned at the fact she brought up the night he almost took her. His manhood began to stiffen. "Little bird..."  
"No. Don't speak. You are going to tell me that you don't want to talk about your 'bloody buggering feelings' because you're a brute and have no happiness to share with the world. Don't tell me that; a wolf can sense a lie as much as a hound can. Only wolves are wilder. " She stared at him with her deep, blue eyes, pouty lips, and reddening cheeks.   
He walked to her and laid down next to her, holding her with his arms. She protested, but gave up and yawned in his embrace. "Sleep," he stroked her scalp tenderly, along with her neck and her back.  
"What if I don't want to sleep?"  
Bloody hells. His manhood was rock hard against his puffing breeches, wanting to thrust at her hips.   
She stared at him daringly, opening her mouth slightly and licking her teeth. “Do you want to sleep?”  
He couldn’t control his mouth, “No,” he whispered. He regretted it, biting down on his tongue as she looked up to him from his chest.   
“Sandor,”  
“What, Sansa?”  
She nestled closer to him. “Do you think Jaime can hear us?”  
“Fuck Jaime.” Sandor rolled her on her back and molded his lips to hers, his fingers tangling through her thick, red locks. He pressed his body to her, feeling the warmth of her stomach and the softness of her developing breasts, the taste of her sweet mouth sent him shivering. She wrapped her arms around him as she pawed at his back, wanting to rip off his shirt and feel the hard muscles that laid underneath his hot skin.   
She began to pant in a painful lust that she had never experienced with a man. “Please... I want to see you,” her fingers fumbled with the laces on his makeshift shirt before he pulled on the bottom string and flew the cloth over his head.  
Sandor was a statue made in the image of the Gods. His shoulders were heavily perfected that lead down to his muscled arms and abdomen that looked as if they were carved in a tan marble. His skin shined with the silver battle scars that made him look more a man than she saw him as. His hair covered his face as he looked down at her, his eyes gleaming as beads of sweat rolled down his chest.  
She stuck out a finger and drew the line down his abdomen as his breath sped up faster, and he pressed his lips to hers again. She could feel the hardness of his manhood pulsing against her, and he began lifting her roughspun tunic passed her thighs and over her hips. She had to force herself to break the kiss in order to take off the tunic completely, and was disappointed when he didn’t start again. He was in the same position as when he took off his shirt, but he glimmered at her instead of her at him.  
“You’re beautiful,” he reached down to feel the soft, porcelain skin of her arms, tickling her to where she shivered. He looked at her as if to get her permission, and with gleaming eyes she moaned as he grasps her breast and massaged it while he closed the passionate kiss once more. She began to feel the muscles of his back, hard and warm in sync with the smoothness of his wandering tongue.  
“More, Sandor, more...”  
He lead his finger down her body slowly; between her breasts, across the peach-fuzz of her stomach, and the mound of auburn hair until he felt her slickness. She arched her back when he rubbed his thumb against the hard bone in her sensitive area as he felt her nails dig deeper in his back, the feeling of pain and lust sending him wild  
“Sandor, oh gods!” She dug her nails into his skin, feeling the heat of his blood curve under her fingers.   
He put two coarse fingers near her entrance and motioned into pressured circles while he lusted at the feelings of their hot bodies sliding together, as he could finally feel her womanhood that steamed with heat.   
“Little bird wants to play,” he could barely get out as he moved his mouth to her neck, wiggling his tongue behind the soft lobe of her ear.   
She moaned in delight, and slowly grabbed for the stone in his breeches. He gasped as she helped him undo the laces, freeing his heavy manhood on to her thigh. The feeling of her skin on his manhood made him moan with her, singing the songs of love.   
“I want to feel you, Sandor,” she hesitantly grabbed a hold of his cock as she felt the tip of it, slick and wet. He gasped and blew his cry into her ear, sending her energy of love into her hand as she motioned her body and fingers against his shaft. She sped up the pulse of her tight, inexperienced hand as he motioned faster with his two fingers against her slickness. They rocked against each other’s body until Sandor grabbed himself and lead him towards her womanhood. He circles his tip against her wetness as she cried out a moan, “Sandor, please...”  
“What, Sansa?” He panted to her.  
“I... I’m not ready, oh gods! It feels so good!”   
Fucking hells! He couldn’t bare the thought of stopping, not coming inside of her... “I won’t take you, little bird,” Instead, he pulsed his shaft up and down her lips as she cried again, him singing along with her. Her arms were clasped around his neck and her fingers dug through his scalp. He held himself up with his massive, muscled arms, the intense feeling of making love to her taking away the feeling of the crunching leaves beneath his hands. He could feel the traffic of the liquid through his manhood, aching for it to burst out on her stomach. She moaned as she could feel her climax arising, both rocking their bodies as the white liquids seeped out of her. He took his shaft away from her and took himself in his hand to release on her stomach. Sansa shivered at his seed landing on her, her hands still entwined in his black locks.   
“Little bird,” he collapsed beside her, holding her sweating body against his. They were both panting, massaging their fingers against each other’s backs and scalps.   
“Sandor, that was so...wonderful. Thank you for not entering me,” she looked up at him, staring at him with her glowing eyes in the sunlight.  
“No, thank you, little bird.”  
“Sansa.” She responded, and planted a kiss on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading, I am absolutely promising that there will be more. This is just the start, I am expecting this to be at least 40,000 words, so hang in there!!!


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